


The Silver Centaur

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Centaur Valjean, Centaurs, Descriptions of Prison Rape Outside of Javert/Valjean, Fisting, M/M, Madeleine Era, Paris Era, Rope Bondage, Toulon Era, centaur sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: It was different, here in the north, or so Javert had learned after he had left Toulon behind. Here, it had been possible for the centaur called Father Madeleine to open a factory and make a fortune with a revolutionary manufacture of imitation jet. Now, Father Madeleine had become Mayor Madeleine, and Javert was forced to follow a centaur’s orders and treat him with all the respect a superior deserved.Or: Javert is forced to work together with one of Vidocq's centaurs. But how could he ever trust such a creature - especially when it turns out to be no other than Jean Valjean?
Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29
Collections: Valvert Monster Remix





	The Silver Centaur

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the [Trick'ord Treat centaur art](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/766898272115097641/767371890158731264/Centaur.png).
> 
> I've given Valjean [Haflinger coloring](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flaxen_gene#/media/File:Haflinger_3607_by_Flominator.jpg) here (at least before he turns a lovely silver).

He wasn’t the first centaur Javert had ever seen, but he was the first who had come in unbroken, a wild stallion caught in the mountains where a few of the creatures still roamed to this day.

He was an impressive sight, with a muscular body uncommonly strong even for a centaur, which were prized for their strength. Here in the quarries of Toulon, they could pull loads ten ordinary men wouldn’t be able to move. Javert could already see that this one would be worth the effort of breaking in.

If he could be broken in. Right now, he stood still, legs shaking, his coat matted with sweat. His arms were tied tightly behind his back, and they had hobbled him. Strong ropes bound his hind legs to his forelegs so that he could not kick out while Martin, Javert’s superior, stood behind him, idly inspecting the powerful hindquarters and in the process of tying up the tail into a neat, small bundle.

Many of the older, scarred centaurs had had their tails docked when they had first arrived in Toulon, but Martin preferred to have them merely tied out of the way. Javert couldn’t see why—it meant more work to keep the beasts clean, but then, it was not his custom to question his superiors.

“Ah, Javert,” Martin said, calling him over. “Come and watch. Have you ever see one of the wild ones?”

“No, sir.”

Javert had been a guard long enough to have grown used to centaurs—but he only knew them as immensely strong beasts that had learned to fear the whip and obey humans. Once, centaurs had roamed free everywhere, believing themselves to be superior to humans, obeying no laws and trusting in their brute strength to keep it that way.

These days, the beasts were forced to serve human authority, the way it should be—forbidden from talking unless asked a question by a human.

“There are different ways of breaking them in.” A small, cruel smile played on Martin’s lips as he eyed the captive stallion. “I prefer doing it this way...”

***

Twenty years later, Javert still sometimes woke to lingering images of the subdued creature in his mind: the knotted muscles of the stallion’s body struggling in vain against the taut rope, the brawny human arms shackled behind his back, the shocked sounds he made from behind his gag when Martin coaxed his cock out of its sheath to show it to Javert—as long as his arm and just as thick, a vulnerable, wet red at the tip, the massive balls almost as large as a melon between his hind legs.

He had groaned behind his gag when Martin had pushed his hand into his hole, forcing it in up to his elbow while the stallion’s legs trembled. Sickened and fascinated, Javert had kept his eyes on the centaur’s animal half, staring at the long, inhuman cock. Yet for some reason, just when the beast’s cock had begun spurting its copious semen against the creature’s stomach, chance—or perhaps the first stirrings of a hunter’s instinct—had made Javert look up, and his eyes had met those of another centaur led past by a group of guards.

Javert startled from his sleep. His cock was rock-hard, the memory of those sullen eyes, hot like coals, burning inside him as he viciously squeezed himself.

Out of all the beasts he had seen in Toulon, that one pair of eyes he had never been able to forget—not the stallion Martin had broken in before his eyes, not any of the others who had been punished for fighting or disobedience or mounting each other like the beasts they were.

Jean Valjean, already scarred by ropes and harness when Javert came to Toulon, his body a mealy, light chestnut color turned dull and dirty by dust and mud, had somehow managed to worm his way into his dreams, even after all these years.

Perhaps—perhaps if he had had the chance to teach him proper respect the way Martin had done with the newcomer...

Javert tightened his grasp on himself, stroking rapidly, imagining Valjean bound, legs spread and trembling, the long, vulnerable cock unsheathed for Javert to play with—

After he had cleaned himself up, there were only minutes left to get ready. Nevertheless, by the time he arrived in the mayor’s office to hear about a dispute the mayor wanted him to investigate, Javert was cool and collected, giving nothing away as he was forced to bow his head in respect to the creature the good electors of Montreuil-sur-Mer had chosen as their mayor.

It was different, here in the north, or so Javert had learned after he had left Toulon behind. Here, it had been possible for the centaur called Father Madeleine to open a factory and make a fortune with a revolutionary manufacture of imitation jet. Now, Father Madeleine had become Mayor Madeleine, and Javert was forced to follow a centaur’s orders and treat him with all the respect a superior deserved.

Javert didn’t like it, but why exactly that was so, he could not say. Often, he told himself that it was simple discomfort at how the rules he had learned to follow in Toulon had changed since—the Revolution had made an end of the decree that saw wild centaurs hunted and caught, forbidden from speaking the human tongue and put to work in Toulon and similar places. There had been centaur legislators in the Council of Five Hundred, and Napoleon had once been served by a famous centaur general. Of course, nowadays, it had become exceedingly rare once more to find a centaur with the right to vote, like Mayor Madeleine.

Javert was merely an inspector; he had no right to judge the laws better men decreed. Even so, it was a niggling discomfort to see a creature that was quite visibly half-beast walk through the town of Montreuil on hooves and be greeted respectfully by the town’s electors.

Still, there was more to his discomfort. Mayor Madeleine’s coat was a fine, light chestnut, almost golden in the sunlight, with a pale tail, like the flaxen-haired horses of the Alps.

Javert had seen a centaur with similar coloring before, and today, as every time he encountered the mayor, he found himself staring into his eyes, his brow furrowing. On his tongue, he could taste the dust and the salt of Toulon, and he remembered the centaur stallion’s brawny body trembling and the sullen eyes of the flaxen-haired beast that had been led past.

Jean Valjean.

It seemed impossible that one of Toulon’s brutish beasts of burden should come to be the beloved mayor of a small town in the north—a centaur who went to the elections and whose factory had transformed Montreuil into a town of great prosperity.

“If you would look into the matter of the rain gutters,” Madeleine said mildly, meeting Javert’s suspicious gaze as always with a smile, “that will be all, Javert.”

Javert inclined his head briskly and strode out—but not without eying the mayor’s body once more, wondering if the well-brushed golden coat might be hiding old scars.

***

Of course it was Jean Valjean. Who else it would be?

Javert laughed, bitterly amused, as he found himself face to face with the centaur’s familiar body in the prefecture’s yard.

“Vidocq found him for us,” the commissaire said, his mouth showing all too clearly what he thought of the idea of sending one of his inspectors to cooperate with a centaur. “Make it work, Javert. It will be best for all of us to have this... _experiment_ over with as quickly as possible.”

Javert stared up at the centaur, who in turn looked wary despite his immense strength. For some reason, Valjean seemed as uncomfortable as Javert at the thought that they had have to work together.

“Why are you here?” Javert said curtly. “You impersonated a magistrate. And there was the theft, shortly after the law saw you centaurs released from Toulon.”

He had imagined Valjean would get angry at his words, but instead, Valjean flinched.

“I was sent back. Surely you must know that they returned me to Toulon—for my crimes, this time, not for who I was.”

Javert scowled at the bitterness in Valjean’s words. The many crimes he had committed after the Revolution had seen centaurs released everywhere was proof enough that they were bestial by nature and that Valjean had belonged in the bagne in the first place, using that bestial strength for the benefit of human society instead of against it.

“I’m here because of Vidocq,” Valjean then offered reluctantly. “I made a deal. Should you not be glad? I wondered why he chose me, instead of any other, with my history—but now I can see why. He must have thought you would be delighted to have a chance to give me orders.”

Javert scoffed. “Say rather, he must have been delighted at spiting me with your freedom!”

“I’m not free.” The words were soft. “My freedom depends on my good conduct. And that, in turn, depends on how well I do with this project he has me do for the prefecture.”

Javert took a sudden breath as realization dawned. “So I could have you sent back to the bagne right now...”

Valjean flinched, the powerful body shuddering once more. Javert had expected to see anger, but instead Valjean took a step backward.

“I’d beg you not to,” he said bitterly, “because there’s the fate of a child I’m responsible for—but I already know that such pleas mean nothing to you. So instead, think of the task ahead. Vidocq has chosen me because he knew I’m well-suited to it. And I’m ready to do what I have to do. I’ll follow your orders—all of them. You need one of us to work with you, or you won’t ever get close to Carmagnolet and his men.”

“Perhaps,” Javert allowed after a moment’s thought. It was true—as much as he hated this cooperation with Vidocq, he needed a centaur to infiltrate this centaur-led gang which ruled over the plains which adjoined the Salpêtrière. “But it doesn’t have to be you. There are countless others of your kind.”

“None as strong as I am. Or as experienced. Or indeed, as willing,” Valjean said quietly.

“How could I ever trust you? This is ludicrous.”

“What proof do you want?” Valjean asked—and now, for the first time, Javert realized that there was a hint of despair in his voice. If Javert refused to work with him, would he indeed be sent back to the bagne? “I’ll do it—anything. Any proof you need.”

Javert swallowed, his eyes coming to linger once more on the powerful body, the gleaming coat that had once been gold and turned white after Arras, the muscular hindquarters.

“Meet me here, in the prefecture stables,” he said at last. “At midnight. Then I’ll see for myself whether you say the truth.”

***

Valjean was there. Javert had half hoped he wouldn’t show up—but he was already waiting when Javert sneaked into the silent stable, standing quietly at the back where only a little moonlight fell in through a window, which turned his pale coat into gleaming silver.

Javert swallowed, then lit the lamp he had brought and nodded for Valjean to follow him. Valjean seemed ill at ease, but he followed nevertheless, his head low. The sound of his hooves echoed quietly as they passed by the stalls that held the prefecture’s horses.

Most of the stalls would be too small for what Javert had in mind—but there was a large, empty stall at the back that would suit Javert’s purpose.

He pointed his head at it when Valjean caught up to him. Valjean hesitated before he entered it, his head still hanging low. Javert followed, then closed the door.

He was so close to Valjean that he could taste the danger on his tongue. Muscles rippled beneath Valjean’s coat. One kick from his powerful hind legs could shatter a man’s skull.

Javert swallowed, then said, “Lie down.”

Centaurs, like horses, did not lie down unless they felt completely safe. It left them vulnerable, and in case of danger took too long for their massive bodies to get back up. But Javert wanted Valjean vulnerable—and although Valjean clearly was not feeling particularly safe, he reluctantly went to his knees in the fresh straw that filled the stall, then exhaled and shifted his weight onto his side.

“Let’s see how much I can trust you then.” Javert reached out for the rope he had placed there in advance.

Valjean’s eyes were following him as he approached, but Valjean remained motionless—even though by now, he had to have an idea of what Javert was up to.

Javert wound the rope around one hind leg, then tied it to a foreleg—tightly enough that Valjean would not be able to kick out or indeed move much at all. A shudder ran through Valjean’s body, the silver coat rippling, but he remained still otherwise.

Javert did the same to the other pair of legs. Then, from his pocket, he took a pair of handcuffs.

“Hands behind your back.”

Valjean hesitated a moment before he complied. He was tense; Javert could feel his muscles tighten when he cuffed his wrists.

Then it was done. Valjean was as powerless as a centaur could be made. Javert drank in the sight, until even that was not enough anymore and he reached out to touch.

Valjean’s hair was warm and soft beneath his fingertips when he drew his hand down Valjean’s flank. Now, at last, he could feel the old scars left by the whip, hidden beneath Valjean’s glossy coat. His coat had changed from pale gold to white seemingly overnight. It was a change from the sullen, mud-covered stallion Javert had known in Toulon, and it took some getting used to. Still, there was something intriguing about the silver-white of Valjean’s coat—a mask of purity Javert could not wait to rip off.

And when he let his hand trail downward, he found that he was right.

Without further coaxing, Valjean’s cock had emerged from its sheath. As long and thick as Javert’s arm, it was a dark brown, the tip a vulnerable pink, stretching forward stiffly against Valjean’s stomach.

“Ah, so it’s like that,” Javert said. “You’ve been waiting for this.”

Silently, Valjean shook his head. His face had flushed and he would not meet Javert’s eyes.

“No? Then what do you call that?”

Javert trailed his hand over Valjean’s stomach, avoiding the eager length of his cock until he came to the heavy balls between his hind legs—large enough it would take both of his hands to cup them. Idly, he curved his fingers around them, intrigued by their size and heat.

Valjean shivered helplessly beneath him, his cock jerking.

“You’re eager for this. You wanted this,” Javert accused. “Were you hoping this would happen when I told you I wanted proof?”

“No—” Valjean gasped, and Javert immediately gave his balls a light slap that made Valjean groan and his body shudder beneath him.

“Don’t lie to me,” Javert said sharply. “How can I trust you when you start out lying?”

Valjean’s cock was still just as hard. Javert ran his fingers over his stomach where the growth of hair was lighter; he could see the pink of Valjean’s skin shine through.

Again Valjean shuddered beneath him—although, curiously enough, his limbs never fought their bonds.

“I’ve never been touched with kindness by a human hand,” Valjean said at last, desperate. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Ah. So you wanted this,” Javert murmured. “You’ve been dreaming of this.”

“No—” Valjean abruptly fell silent when Javert’s hand closed around his cock. A desperate cry escaped him when Javert stroked him from root to tip.

“No more lies,” Javert said viciously. “You’re the one who wants me to trust you!”

Valjean shivered all over beneath him. Again Javert stroked him, exploring the feeling of Valjean’s massive cock in his hand. Despite its enormous size, it was warm and vulnerable, and touching it felt all the more intimate for how it was usually hidden away in its sheath. Now it was out in the open—and all Javert’s.

How long had he imagined that sight?

Perhaps ever since that one day when Martin had broken in the wild centaur and Javert had met Valjean’s eyes across the yard.

Now, with Valjean helplessly bound and shivering beneath him, he began to wonder if Valjean had kept imagining it too, all through those years...

“Never a human touch?” he asked, his throat dry. “Never... until now?”

The thought of Valjean imagining this moment all these years was almost more potent than the reality of having Valjean’s large cock utterly at his mercy.

Valjean was panting as Javert kept lightly stroking him.

“Never,” he admitted hoarsely, his legs trembling desperately in their bonds—but now, Javert imagined, with the need to spread apart for him rather than to break free.

Javert swallowed. Then he released Valjean’s cock, ignoring the desperate sound Valjean made, and stroked his stomach, moving further back to where Valjean’s balls rested, heavy and round. This time, he ignored them as well.

He shifted his position a little, resting his hand on Valjean’s powerful haunches. Another shiver rippled through Valjean’s silver hair. As if Valjean knew what Javert was thinking about, his long, soft tail rose high and turned to the side, like a mare in heat offering herself to the stallion, and Javert found Valjean’s hole bared to his view.

Javert swallowed again. “Then maybe it’s time to change that. Let’s see just how far I can trust you,” he said, even though the conceit under which he had lured Valjean here was already half-forgotten.

All Javert could think of was the stunning discovery he had made. Valjean remembered that moment their eyes had met. Valjean had imagined it too through the years—decades, perhaps, of imagining himself in that wild centaur’s position and Javert in the place of Martin. 

Had Valjean thought of it when Vidocq had told him what he wanted Valjean to do? Had he cooperated just to escape his sentence of hard labor, because there was a child to save—or had he agreed to the deal still thinking of that moment, thinking of a touch he had never known?

Javert touched Valjean’s hole lightly, then pressed in. Valjean’s body gave way immediately, slowly swallowing his hand as Valjean groaned. Javert imagined the warmth and the softness around his cock and only barely bit back a groan himself.

Instead, curious, he pressed in deeper—and Valjean’s body helplessly gave way to him, allowing him to slide in deep, the heat of Valjean’s body surrounding his arm like a glove.

Valjean was panting desperately. Javert pulled out a little before he pushed back inside, then did it again and again. Valjean’s body yielded to him, drawing him in deeper while Valjean moaned, his powerful body heaving in his bonds—all that strength subdued, made utterly helpless.

Had Valjean been afraid when he had come here tonight?

Javert slid his arm back inside. Valjean’s hole swallowed him up to the elbow as Valjean moaned desperately, his silver tail arched far to the side, his body wide open for Javert.

With his other hand, Javert reached down beneath Valjean’s stomach once more and found his cock, hot and swollen. He wrapped his fingers around it as best as he could in his position—and this time, it took no more than a few strokes until Valjean sobbed and came, shaking in his bonds, the enormous balls contracting as he spilled his release in enormous pulses against the formerly so pristine white of his stomach.

Only now did Javert become aware of his own panting breath in the silence of the stable. He was painfully hard, his cock aching with every beat of his heart—a low, insistent throb that had him scramble at the buttons of his trousers before he even realized what he was doing.

Valjean had collapsed into the straw, his silver coat darkened with sweat, his release staining his stomach. His limbs had relaxed in his bonds once more—but when Javert curved his hand around the powerful haunches, prodding, Valjean turned his head, eying him. Fearful and existed, his tail rose once more to give Javert access even as he laboriously moved, still shivering, until he was better positioned, Javert’s cock neatly lined up with his hole.

Javert twisted his hand in Valjean’s tail, gripping it hard, although he barely needed to. Still, he liked the sensation of it between his fingers—and by the shuddering sound Valjean made, he wasn’t averse to Javert’s forcefulness.

Then Javert pushed inside.

Valjean’s hole felt soft and loose. Earlier, it had swallowed his arm without protest. Now, it gently surrounded him, a hot, living caress pulsing around his cock. It was a strange sensation to feel warm hair against his thighs, but even so Javert leaned forward over Valjean’s hindquarters, panting as he kept thrusting into the welcoming heat of him.

Beneath his hands, Valjean’s massive body trembled. When Javert looked up, he saw that Valjean had twisted, watching now with a strange expression as Javert penetrated him—not with shock or shame, but something that looked like shyness, Javert realized.

Unlike the earlier penetration by his arm, Valjean probably barely felt this. Still, he was watching, eyes wide and vulnerable—and he kept his body relaxed beneath Javert, letting him do as he pleased without fighting the ropes.

 _I’ve never known a kind touch from a human hand,_ he had said—was this what he had wanted all along?

Javert spilled himself with a groan inside Valjean, who trembled around him. Valjean made another soft sound, shivering again. His eyes were very dark and overwhelmed as he kept watching Javert, his tail arched back, not once resisting Javert’s harsh grip.

“You like this,” Javert said a while later, when he had somewhat recovered. He ran his hand down Valjean’s leg, touching the rope that bound him. “This. You like what I did to you.”

Valjean flushed again. He did not speak for a moment, although he also did not look away, letting Javert look his fill of him: the powerful centaur’s body tied by his own hands, vulnerable and exposed, messy with sweat and come, the pink cock not yet retreated into its sheath.

“You can trust me,” Valjean said at last, and Javert slowly smiled.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said, ignoring Valjean’s frown as he continued, “But I’m willing to give it a try.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Prefecture's Secret Sin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278866) by [iberiandoctor (Jehane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor)




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